Ambiguity
by raindropp
Summary: Amy wasn't Jo. Amy could never be Jo. He could handle that. Oneshot.


Title - Ambiguity

Synopsis - Laurie's thoughts on the differences between Amy and Jo. Set in Europe. (1994 film version).

Disclaimer - I do not own _Little Women_ or any of its characters.

Note - Second fic ever. Hope you like it. I always hated how Laurie ended up with Amy, and this story came out of idle thoughts influenced by a very lazy Christmas day and way too much Christmas food. Enjoy. Reviews are nice.

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**Ambiguity**

He slammed the door shut behind him and slunk to the floor in utter disbelief. So it had finally happened. Josephine March was in love. God, he hated himself.

He dug his fingers around the neck of his shirt, suddenly unable to swallow. Loosening his tie and a few buttons of his shirt, he leaned his head against the door and let out such a mournful sigh it actually embarrassed him.

_What's wrong with you?_ he asked himself. _Mooning over some girl. You got over her, remember? Think of all the fun you've had since coming to Europe. Think of all the girls._

But that was just it. All the fun, all the girls, all the traveling—it was all just a way to keep _her_ from entering his mind. When the lights were turned down, and the girls were asleep, and the champagne bottles were empty, in the quiet of the night she'd return in his memories and dreams, and he couldn't hide from her then.

It was always the same: she and him, together, on that day that he had to go and stick his foot in his big, stupid mouth. The softness of her lips against his, the warmth of her body in his arms, the tears in her eyes as she said no—all of these he felt, saw, and breathed in the night.

He thought he would "get better." He thought that one day he'd meet a nice girl his grandfather would approve of, and they would marry and have a nice family, and live in a nice house, and have nice things, and everything would be _nice_ and pleasant and happy because he would have found someone _better_ than Jo March.

Maybe he was too impatient. It had only been a couple of months—all right, four—but maybe he was just too desperate in his search for the New One.

Or, maybe he was too picky? Cynthia was quite the beauty, and quite devoted to him. Perhaps he should call on her again, or Samantha, or even Margaret. He had discovered that he possessed the qualities that were so necessary in charming a kiss and other indecent behavior out of proper and rich young ladies. If anyone at home were to see him now, no doubt they wouldn't recognize him, he had changed so.

He grimaced, and jerked his head back against the door, sending a sharp pain between his eyes. Someone _had_ recognized him, the last person he would have expected to run into in Europe: little Amy March, only not so_ little_ anymore. Since when did she think she had the right to grow up and become a woman? She was just the sort of girl that he, Theodore Laurence, would try to take advantage of, just for some scandalous entertainment.

And what was she doing with Freddy Vaughn? _Freddy_ Vaughn, of all people!

Snobby, little princess, with her perfect little nose in the air, and her judging eyes. She didn't treat him like the other girls, with blushes and giggles. No, Amy March was severe and calculating and blunt. Just like he had once been. Just like Jo.

Oh, wouldn't Amy _love_ to know that he was comparing her to _Jo_.

Amy was an entity unto herself, but he had to admit she did remind him of her elder sister a lot these days. She was of sharper wit than before, more educated and worldly. It actually pained him to think of all the things she must have seen (and done) to lose that beautiful and annoying spoiled innocence that he remembered so clearly about her.

He smiled a little to himself as he thought about her. For all her smart comments, he could tell that she was trying to impress him, trying to make him see her for the little woman she had become. Sometimes he treated her as his little sister just to see her face pink with anger and see how bold she would become in her demeanor towards him. She wanted something more from him, he knew it, but when he treated her like _that_, like all the other girls he had known, she would retreat behind cold eyes.

She wanted even _more_ from him, and Laurie wasn't sure he could give it to her. That was still Jo's property, no matter how much he denied it.

Yet, Amy had said that Jo had found someone. Some professor. Of course, Jo would fall for some man with books and idle time to think and philosophize. But how would they live? Poor as church mice, and Laurie would have given Jo the world.

He rubbed his face wearily and stood to his feet. The window was open and the city bustled below him. Jo had wanted this life. She had said so herself, many times, yet she still had rejected him.

He was almost positive he could have handled her rejection had it not been a slap in the face of everything he thought he had known about her. This beautiful, smart, educated woman who wanted to be free from the restrictions of her family's financial problems, who wanted to see the world, who wanted to live dramatically, had rejected his very offer to do so.

She had been afraid, and Laurie had never seen Jo afraid.

And the mere fact that she was afraid crumbled and toppled the pedestal that he had placed her upon.

It had crushed him, not just because it had revealed a Jo he did not know, but because it had revealed a side of himself he had never known. Everything he knew about himself was somehow connected to Jo, and for her to sever ties meant that he had to rediscover himself.

He thought about the days after she had left for New York. He had wanted to run after her, like some idiotic romantic in one of her plays, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was shaken to his very core, and admittedly feeling cowardly and hurt. He wanted to relish the pain of freedom she had given him. So he did what any young college graduate of stable income did: he went to Europe.

He flirted, he danced, he loved. He did everything he was expected to do, and now as he looked at himself in the mirror he realized that he didn't like what he saw. (Metaphorically, since he literally looked top notch).

He was a fake.

That fact cut open his old scars. He could hear Amy's voice in his mind, judging him for behaving so badly. He was immature and selfish, and not deserving of Jo _or_ Amy.

Meg would have scolded him like a child, and John would have spoken to his grandfather. Beth would have cried buckets for him and begged him to be good. Jo would have yelled and slapped him like a savage. Marmee would have spoken coolly to him of disappointment and sorrow.

And Amy had simply told him the truth.

And it was Amy that his thoughts now turned to.

Amy, with her sparkling blue eyes and her beautiful little nose.

Amy, with her teasing mouth.

Amy, with her golden tresses and blushing cheeks.

Amy, with her sharp tongue and angry words.

Amy, with her proper demeanor and prissy ways.

Amy, with her passion.

_She isn't Jo_, the voice in his mind whispered, as if he didn't know. It didn't matter. Jo had stolen a place in his heart long ago, and Laurie doubted that anyone would ever truly take it from her. But the rest of his heart he could give to another (couldn't he?). And what better person than Amy?

He sat at his desk and took out a pen and a sheet of paper. He paused. Once he wrote this letter, there would be no going back. He would have to commit. He would have to risk everything again.

She wasn't Jo, but Laurie was certain in time he would love her like she deserved. He_wanted _to love her like she deserved. But she wasn't Jo.

She would never be Jo.

He could handle that.

He wrote.


End file.
